


(waiting for) upheaval

by nereid



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nereid/pseuds/nereid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(waiting for) upheaval

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juiceboxhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juiceboxhero/gifts).



There's a billion or so issues on this planet Paris'd like to solve. Global warming, occasionally poverty, cancer, AIDS, the losuy investigative journalism plaguing the USA. And this week, she adds her own insomnia onto the list.

 

"Learn to drive, moron" Paris shouts at the black car that drives past her and leaves a wet stain on her blue dress, water and probably dirt and bacteria and who knows what else.

 

"Some people, right?" she turns to the glittered up woman standing next to her, waiting to cross the road. The woman shrugs and wraps herself up more in her glitter-filled sweater, and seriously, how is this fashion now; Paris would have rolled her eyes if she didn't have in mind that rolling eyes at people in 3 am on lonesome roads wasn't an equivalent of carrying a "kill me softly" neon sign above her head, and she maybe would want to sleep but it doesn't mean she's ready to sleep forever.

 

It's 3 am and probably this woman should not be here, and presumably no one should be outside of their beds at 3 am or at least Paris is sure she should not be here. She's looking at her reflection in the pool of rain that's collected below her feet. She hasn't been sleeping for weeks now. She makes the call.

 

"Aren't there laws against these kinds of things?" Rory picks up almost immediately.

 

"What kinds of things?"

 

"Waking up innocent citizens at 3 am."

 

"It's 3:18 and actually, I'm pretty sure that would be too much legislation, even for you liberals."

 

"You're a liberal, too, Paris."

 

"Not at 3:18 I'm not. At 3:18 I'm just a person who wants to sleep."

 

"Paris, go to sleep. Or at least let me do the same."

 

"Rory, I can't sleep."

 

"Paris, I _can_."

 

"Rory, you're my friend, and friends are supposed to help their friends when asked to do so."

 

"Fine, but you don't get to use that as an excuse for another 3 am call for the next, hm, two weeks."

 

"A week."

 

"Ten days."

 

"Deal."

 

"Deal."

 

A car pulls over next to Paris and the glittery woman; then the driver honks and the woman gets into the car and seats herself on the driver's seat.

 

"Paris, where are you?" Paris obviously can't tell for sure, but she thinks she can hear Rory sit upright in her bed in her probably quaint little Stars Hollow bedroom.

 

"I'm walking. Well, technically, I'm sitting right now, but I went for a walk, I looked up what to do when you can't sleep and one of the advice was just to get up and walk for a while, but then this wind happened and the car and now my dress is wet and I have to walk back, which is something that should have been clear to me from the start, but, oh well."

 

"Paris, you're rambling, that's usually my part, I'm not sure I can do yours, unannounced like this, at 3 am."

 

"I tried hypnotizing myself. It didn't work. I'm freaking out here, Gilmore."

 

"Please don't call me Gilmore, we're not in House. Or X Files. Or Bones. Or any other show where people insist on calling each other by their last names even when they already know each other for, like, a decade. Okay, Paris?"

 

"Fine. But - "

 

"You tried hypnotizing yourself?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Okay."

 

At some point, one of them hangs up. Paris walks home. She doesn't sleep when she gets there.

 

By the twelth day Rory has fondly opted to call this the twelve labors of Paris and insists on making as many Greek mythology references as she can squeeze into her run on sentences these days. All of this probably explains well enough why when Paris calls Rory, Rory answers with this:

 

"Sing, goddess, the anger of Geller's daughter Paris  
and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon Rory Gilmore,  
hurled in her entirety to the house of Hades strong souled  
and heroic"

 

"Rory?"

 

"Paris."

 

"Four things, this is off the top of my head so I can't claim that they're in the correctly ordered, by which I mean, I don't know which one of these is the most annoying: I am not Heracles, or Hercules, or however you prefer to call him, and trying to compare me to Heracles, well, I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be insulting, but I refuse to take it seriously, cause, how could it be. Second thing is, you realize that the meter is terribly off in your neat little crapification, oh sorry, I meant adaptation of the Illiad, third thing, why are you the Troyans in this version?"

 

"Paris, you _are_ devastating me."

 

"Oh."

 

"What was the fourth thing?"

 

"That was the correct translation to use, Rory, I'm surprised by your genius sometimes. Maybe you are more than Disney princess eyes. And hair."

 

"Paris, that might be one of the nicest things you've ever said to me." 

 

"Yeah, don't get used to it, I think it's just the chronic insomnia getting to me finally. Maybe this should be listed as dangerous insomnia consequences. Everyone's just talking about health risks like immune system weakening, no one ever warns you about saying stupid things out loud."

 

"Paris, you do wound me."

 

"I do try."

 

„I know, Paris.”

 

"The acupuncture didn't work."

 

"The milk and honey?"

 

"Please, I'm not a 3 year old who can't sleep."

 

"And?"

 

"And I tried that already. Honey is not on any of my food lists anymore, let's just say that."

 

"Yeah, let's all just say that."

 

"Rory, is this the best you can do? Wasn't your entire childhood pretty much nagging other small town people and helping them along with their small town problems? Is my entire vision of small towns false?"

 

"Not sure, no, and yes. Definitely yes."

 

"Then what do I do?"

 

"Paris, you're stressed out."

 

"I've been stressed out since I was four and a half, Rory."

 

"Paris?"

 

"Yeah, Disney Eyes?"

 

"Maybe you should try, you know, being less stressed out. Also, the nickname thing's not doing it for me either."

 

"Fine, Disney Eyes."

 

"Paris."

 

"Fine, Rory."

 

Paris does her assignment, does all the extra credit assignments, she interrupts the maid’s cleaning and reads a book a day, and she still can’t sleep. Her skin seems itchy and her brain seems tired, and the Internet seems to be mocking her by saying she just needs to talk to someone.

 

“Fine,” she shouts at her laptop screen.

 

And then, on the evening of the same day, about 9 pm to be specific, she is standing on the porch of the Gilmore house in Stars Hollow, a sleeping bag in tow. Never let it be said that Paris Geller didn’t listen to advice to solve her problems.

 

"Paris. What're you doing here?" Rory opens the door, wearing pajamas.

 

"I'm not sure, I've never done this whole sleepover thing before. Except that one time, but you just guilt invited me over then, and I'm not sure that was a good basis for a proper sleepover experience."

 

"And what is the proper experience?"

 

"I don't know, you've seen more movies than I have. Actually, you've probably seen more movies than anyone else has."

 

"That is my life goal," Rory says, head lifted up, eyes looking into the starry sky in a marvelously fake display of daydreaming.

 

"Great. Then I can come in?"

 

"Yeah, sure Paris."

 

And then, something that seems sort of like a miracle, somewhere between the smiling, the partially ironic braiding of the hair, the watching of The Parent Trap and the chocolate milk and chocolate chip cookies and the pancakes and the chocolate syrup, on a sleeping bag next to her friend’s bed,

 

Paris finally falls asleep.


End file.
